


these nights never seem to go to plan

by ariadne_odair



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (at first), Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Coming Out, Five Times, Homophobia, M/M, POV Outsider, and really hate each other, and seven people who realise they really don't, steve and tony acts like idiots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:13:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2140149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_odair/pseuds/ariadne_odair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Steve takes a deep breath, then another, then says quietly, "What a dick."</i>
</p><p>  <i>Clint cracks up, partly due to nervous adrenaline still looping his body, and partly because Steve never swears. Clint has a mouth like a sailor, but Steve choices to use his expletives when they're needed. He's not a prude, he's just very, very good at picking his moment. Like when some idiot called Tony Stark tries to run them over in his car.</i></p><p>  <i>"Yep, a dick," Clint agrees, slinging an arm around Steve's skinny waist, "Definitely fulfilling that criteria. Also, I may have lost a toe."</i></p><p>  <i>"I wish he'd lost a toe," Steve says darkly, which only makes Clint crack up more.</i></p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Or the one where Tony and Steve are hopelessly in love, but also <i>hopeless</i>, until all their respective friends have noticed - including Thor. Or the high school au where's there's too much pining, and not enough talking, and everyone really needs to get a grip.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clint 'not oblivious' Barton

**Author's Note:**

> And I'm back :) I'm pretty certain I promised a high school au ages ago? Well here it is, only its all from other's point of view, because I've always wanted someone to write that :) 
> 
> This chapter's pretty short, but I'm hoping for 4,000 or so words per chapter? And Clint's first because he is my baby and I simultaneously want to kiss him and let his pin me down on a bed. That last bit was going to be so graphic but that's inappropriate, bad me. (If you've never read any of my fics, I apologise but this pretty much the tone for all my author's notes.)
> 
> Hope you like it!

Clint is the first one to be Steve's best friend. He likes to think that's because they're compatible on a variety of levels. Firstly, they're both scrawny as hell, blond, pinched cheeks, not as tall as either of them would like. Clint always jokes he's Steve's bodyguard, but in reality, apart from having a few pounds on him, neither of them are really up to any physical alterations.

Which of course doesn't stop Steve, but it's  _Steve._

Secondly, they're both dirt poor, which is more fun to phase than actually  _be._ Clint knows Steve works so hard around the house, gets a sinking feeling whenever he thinks about Steve's sixteenth birthday. Knows that Steve will be pounding those pavements the moments he's able to get work. Steve's mom is a nurse, and she's not always around for long, comes back with lines around her eyes and brittle fingers.

Clint, on the other hand, gets jostled around foster homes for a while. That's how they met, actually. Steve's mom had to go into the hospital, (not for work, but they don't talk about that,) and Clint's fosters had taken Steve in for a couple of days. 

"Steve," Clint says, glancing at him as they walk to school, "Do you want my gloves?"

It's September, the sky a dirty smudge above them, clouds hovering threateningly. It's definitely going to rain. Steve's gloves have holes in, so the ends of his fingertips are pinched white. His chest is rising, Clint can see the shift of it under Steve's jacket. Surreptitiously, Clint checks he's packed his inhaler in his worn backpack.

Steve raises an eyebrow at him. "Then your hands will be cold."

Clint shrugs. "We could swap. Have allotted glove time. I'll write up a rota and everything."

Steve laughs, shoving him, but nods anyway. "Alright, pass them over." There's a thousand memories in that one sentence; Steve doesn't accept charity, it's only deep seated trust that lets him accept even the smallest acts of generosity. Which is ironic, because Steve is the most altruistic person Clint's ever met, but there you go.

"Do you ever think we're a bit like trailer trash?" Clint asks thoughtfully, pulling on Steve's holey gloves, "Like, Clint is quite a trailer trashy kind of name."

Steve eyes him sideways. "Well, neither of us live in a trailer. So. I'm going with no."

Clint rolls his eyes. "Yeah, okay. But I mean, sometimes I feel like we're in some gritty, hipster movie. Two young boys, alike in poverty and desperation, struggle through high school to make a better life for themselves."

"Isn't that what every high school student is doing?" Steve asks wryly, "And I'm pretty sure you're getting confused with  _Romeo and Julliet."_

"Who's Romeo?" Clint asks immediately, which elicits another laugh from Steve. "Don't laugh, I'm going to be the one wearing the trousers in this relationship. Literally."

"We both die. Why do you care who you are?"

"These legs aren't meant for a skirt, that's all I'm saying."

Steve laughs so hard he starts coughing, which is not really the response Clint was looking for, considering Steve is  _asthmatic,_ but oh well. Win some, lose some. They're crossing the parking lot, Steve still laughing, when there's the deep roar of an engine. Clint barely has time to look behind him, before a car is pulling up right beside them, way too fast and way too sudden.

Steve yanks Clint out of the way, stumbling as he does it. Clint can feel his heart thumping in his ears, but he's not some delicate flower, so he catches himself before he stumbles as well. He brushes himself off quickly. "What the fuck?"

He gives Steve a hand up, then glares at the car driver. It's a flashy car, bright red and oozing expense, polished wheels and darkened windows. The kind of car Clint wouldn't mind being caught dribbling over. Clint opens his mouth to shout, when this -  _kid_ falls out. He can't be older than them, 14, with messy brown hair. He's slight, but still taller than Steve, and he slides out of the car, amber eyes flashing over Clint with contempt. _  
_

Steve loses it.

Clint's not surprised. Steve has a chivalrous streak a mile wide, with added nobility and a side order of considerate and respectful.

"That was so dangerous," Steve snaps, stepping forward, blue eyes blazing. "You almost hit us! What the heck was that?"

The kid double takes, eyes raking over Steve's skinny body before narrowing them. "A car," he says slowly, "C-A-R. People drive around in them. Be more aware next time."

Clint can practically see Steve bristling, so he steps in. "Parking lot," he drawls, crossing his arms, "P-A-R-K-I-N-G  L-O-T. Where you're supposed to park your car. Not run people over."

The kid opens his mouth, but Steve beats him to it. "How old are you? You can't even be old enough to drive."

The kid snorts. "Why, are you a cop? And I'm 14. My dad knows people."

"Way to sound like you're in the mafia."

"My dad's not in the mafia," the kid snaps, something flashing in his eyes, "He's Howard Stark, you absolute fuckup."

Oh. Well that explains the car. Howard Stark is synonymous with  _filthy rich._ Clint knows he owns some kind of electronics business, sketchy on the details but enough that he could probably buy the whole town if he wanted to. This has to be Tony Stark, Howard's son, and entitled to every scrap of money when he turns 18. 

Naturally, the fact Howard could bury them and get away with it, doesn't deter Steve, because Steve evidently has a complex.

"Just because your dad has money, doesn't mean you can treat people like that," Steve says firmly, lifting his chin, staring Tony right in the eye.

Tony widens his eyes, as if he can't quite believe what's going. "Er, that's exactly what it means. Fuck off and go back to your growth spurt." 

Clint can see Steve recoil in shock, fists clenching. Tony flips them off, slamming the car door shut, before heading off up the school steps. Steve is practically vibrating with anger, so Clint wraps a hand around his arm, feels the delicate bones and tendons there, the way his whole hand can fit around it easily. 

"Steve?"

Steve takes a deep breath, then another, then says quietly, "What a  _dick."_

Clint cracks up, partly due to nervous adrenaline still looping his body, and partly because Steve never swears. Clint has a mouth like a sailor, but Steve choices to use his expletives when they're needed. He's not a prude, he's just very, very good at picking his moment. Like when some idiot called Tony Stark tries to run them over in his car.

"Yep, a dick," Clint agrees, slinging an arm around Steve's skinny waist, "Definitely fulfilling that criteria. Also, I may have lost a toe."

"I wish he'd lost a toe," Steve says darkly, which only makes Clint crack up more. "Shut up!"

Clint bites back his laughter, squeezing Steve's waist one last time before letting go. "Let's just get to class, okay? Preferably without getting run over."

 

 

 

 

Luckily, Steve and Clint don't get graced by Tony's appearance for a while. He's in their English class but he ignores them, slumps at the back with a boy called Bruce. He knows all the answers, but never does the homework, which Clint can tell pisses Steve off no end. There may even be a dent in the desk from where Steve's been gripping it every time Tony saunters past.

But all in all there's a mutual hatred there, which keeps them out of each other's way. Clint's pretty certain that's how it's going to go for the rest of their shitty high school lives, and that's that.

 

 

 

( _Clint is an absolute fucking idiot, and crap at predictions, but in all fairness he won't work that out for a few years.)_

 

 

 

They're in history class one day, Coulson droning on about some war or another, when Steve decides he's going to be friends with Natasha Romanov. 

This is both stupid and dangerous, which is probably why Steve decides to do it.

"Right," Coulson says, slamming his text book down. He straightens his tie, then glares at Clint as if he was the one to mess it up. It wasn't, Coulson just doesn't trust Clint after he got his fifth detention. "I'm going to get the photocopies of those sheets. Do not destroy the classroom. Barton, I am looking at you. Steve, please hand out rulers for everyone."

Once Coulson leaves the room, Clint kicks Steve in the shin. "You're a fucking suck up."

Steve shrugs. "You're just jealous you're not handing out the rulers."

Clint sticks his tongue at him, because he is a mature and developed young adult, then leans back in his chair. He's just doodling on his desk, when he hears Steve say clearly, "Leave her alone."

Clint's Steve senses are tingling. Whenever Steve's about to do something heroic and self-sacrificing, he gets a tingle in the toe Stark almost cut off. He told Steve this once, and Steve stared at him for five minutes, before googling psychosomatic injuries, and calling him an idiot.

Clint sighs, then twists round in his chair. Steve is standing next to Natasha Romanov, a pretty red head who's just moved to their school. She's sitting demurely at her desk, legs crossed, but Clint can see the stiffness in her shoulders, the tight lines around her green eyes. Steve's mouth is pinched unhappily, rulers clenched in his hands.

One of the boys at the back, Justin, Clint thinks, shrugs cockily. He says something racist and predictable, about Natasha going back to where she came round, bitterness dripping in the mundanity of it. There's always going to be arseholes, and Steve looks close to punching them. 

One of them predictably asks whether Steve's her boyfriend, which elicits a round of sniggers. Steve draws himself up to his full height, (not very high), crossing his arms.

"No, I'm not," he says lowly, voice just laced with an edge, "And to be honest, I'm standing up for her more on principle more than anything. Because James Walker called her a slut in Geography last week, and she punched him in the face. So I'd back off if I was you."

There's a stunned silence after that. James Walker definitely does have a black eye, now Clint thinks about it. He thought he'd got it from football. Evidently not, because Natasha sits a little straighter, throws a smug glance at Justin. He looks vaguely terrified. Steve finishes handing out the rulers, then goes to sit down. Nobody says anything.

Clint goes back to doodling. "That was hardcore."

Steve doesn't even look up from his book, but Clint can see his smile from the corner of his eye. "Thanks."

Coulson strolls back in after that, glaring at them all suspiciously. Clint gives him his best smile, but Coulson only looks more on the edge of a breakdown than ever. Jesus, just because Clint offered him a peanut butter cookie once. He was being  _nice._ He didn't know Coulson was going to swell up and go into anaphylactic shock.

After class, Natasha strolls up to them. She gives them a sideways look, eyes lined in black, tights ripped. "Thanks," she says clearly, distinct and crisp, and Steve and Clint nod.

They don't talk about it, but Natasha sits with for a lunch. And every lunch after that.

 

 

 

 

Clint's in English when something hits the back of his head. There's a muffled clattering noise behind him, then a whispered, "Sorry, Barton. Was aiming for Rogers."

Steve sends him an exasperated look. Clint smiles sympathetically. "If you ignore, it won't go away. It will get progressively louder and more annoying."

Steve scowls, but he turns around, shooting Stark an irritated look. "What?" he says in hushed tones, one eye on the teacher.

Tony, of course, ignores all offers of subtlety, and says loudly, "How did you bag Romanov?"

"You can't  _bag_ people," Steve says indignantly, forehead crinkling.

"Just like you can't run them over," Clint mutters. Steve high fives him.

Tony's leaning forward in his chair, eyes bright. His hair is especially messy today, little tufts sticking up at the back. His eyes are sharp, intent, like a cat that can't decide if its prey is going to fight back or not. "I mean, it's definitely not your physique that's got her running into your arms, so what is it? I heard she was kicked out of her old school for stabbing her teacher. With a hairpin. And there was just like, blood  _everywhere._ "

"It's not nice to spread rumours," Steve says snappily, then turns back around. Clint glowers at Tony for a bit, stopping when Steve tugs the sleeve of his jumper.

"He's not worth it," Steve mumbles, eyes fixed on the board. Clint squeezes his arm, then starts doodling on the desk again. Like they're bothered by anything Tony Stark has to say. 


	2. Darcy 'I wish I wasn't your partner' Lewis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter dedicated to StarkLovesStripes, for being the first commenter! Also, what is with people giving me virtual food all the time? I am going to be virtually _bloated_ from you guys :)
> 
> shout out to onegoodeye who is lovely and a goddess and I love her because she reads all my fics :)
> 
> Writing as Darcy this time, because I suddenly went on a rampage about the lack of women in Marvel. I want my no shit taking Natasha Romanov. I also want my dorky, funny, geeky Darcy Lewis of teen girls everywhere. So I did that.

Darcy chews on the end of her pencil thoughtfully. She's got approximately ten seconds until her teacher walks through the door, brandishing a copy of whatever they're forced to read this term. If she wants to pull off an 'it's my time of the month,' this would be the opportune moment. 

The teacher enters the room, Darcy spits out flakes of pencil, and the bell rings. Oh well. She had Coulson last year, who she's still convinced is some kind of secret agent, but this year she has Mrs Mayes. Nice, but not going to win any awards for suspicious behaviour any time soon. She still doesn't know how Coulson figured out she was selling her essays to the desperate younger years. She was  _subtle._

The teacher is just writing on the board, when Steve Rogers stumbles in. Steve always seems to be stumbling, or slipping, or sliding, or any other variation on verbs synonymous with tripping over his own feet. Steve is slim as all hell, so whenever he runs it's like a marathon, various limbs never quite catching up. 

"Sorry," Steve mumbles, then clears his throat. "I had to take Clint to medical, I'm sorry I'm late."

Miss Mayes just nods, gesturing Steve to his seat. Only he has to walk past Tony Stark, who sticks his leg out. Steve goes flying, shin catching painfully on the desk leg. He flushes, entire face turning purple, before glaring at Tony. Darcy could've predicted it; Tony and Steve have a feud going of Montague and Capulet proportions. Everyone knows they hate each other's guts.

Darcy, being a moral and upstanding young woman, kicks the back of Tony's chair so hard his ribs smack the corner of the desk. "Knock it the fuck off, Stark."

"Miss Lewis!" Miss Mayes snaps, but Darcy shrugs unapologetically. Tony flips her the bird, which she returns, and Steve slinks into his chair.

"Thanks," he says once he's sat down, voice a little too high and breathy from running. He sits infront of Darcy, and Darcy can see where the collar of his shirt is rumpled. 

There's a plethora of reasons why Darcy likes Steve. One of them is he never tries to look down her shirt after her, ahem,  _noticeable_ growth spurt. Secondly, he doesn't get all overly macho over instances like that. He doesn't tell Darcy he didn't need her help, or to fuck off, like so many other teenage boys would do. Steve's  _respectful,_ which is refreshing in this hell hole of teenage hormones.

Not that Darcy isn't also a mess of teenage frustration. She would just like to point that out. Steve Rogers, whilst looking like a wind could knock him over, has piercing blue eyes that make Darcy squirm, just a little. If he bulked up, Darcy considers, got a bit of muscle to him, then that jaw line could go make a killing. 

Darcy's just mentally assessing Steve Rogers, and the aesthetics of their potential offspring, when Steve swears under his breath. It's enough to jolt Darcy out of her happy home making reverie, blinking at the board. Miss Mayes has written the words _Group Project_ on the board. Darcy also swears, only it's not under her breath, it's very much over it or whatever the expression is.

Miss Mayes ignores her. Darcy really needs Coulson back. 

"Right, I'm going to assign you all a theme, which you need to develop then present to the class," Miss Mayes says, writing up key themes on the board, "And I'll be assigning your group partners."

There's a grumble of dissent, and Darcy slumps further in her seat.

"Right, Darcy," Miss Mayes looks at her list of names, "You're with Steve and Tony."

"What," Darcy says bluntly.

"The fuck," Tony finishes angrily, pushing back from his desk, "I'm not working with Rogers."

Miss Mayes glares at him. "Maybe if you hadn't just tripped Steve over, I would reconsider. However, I don't tolerate any of that behaviour in my classroom. You're going to have to learn to work together."

Stark looks as though he's considering walking out, before he deflates, all the fight rushing out of him. Miss Mayes shoots him a warning glance, before reading out more names.

Tony sighs, then turns around in his seat noisily. He drags the legs of his chair round obnoxiously, eyes narrowing. Steve crosses his arms, face hardening.

"Well," Darcy says loudly, "This is going to be fun."

 

 

 

 

"Did you ever eat playdough when you were little?"

Jane doesn't even look up from her book, sliding her glasses further up on her nose. "Darcy."

"Because I definitely did, and I always wondered if that would have an effect on you. Like, does playdough dissolve? Does it just stick around in your stomach - "

"Darcy," Jane sighs, closing her book, "I really need to revise for this test."

Darcy snorts, because she can guarantee Jane does  _not_ need to revise for that test, whatever it is. "Jane, you're top of all your classes. You could take a three month holiday to the Bahamas, and come back and ace every single module."

Jane sighs again, before smiling gratefully at Darcy. Darcy pushes her lunch towards her. "Food. Good for you."

Jane smiles, stabbing a piece of lettuce. "Thanks."

"Why are you so stressed anyway?" Darcy asks, peeling the lid off her yoghurt. She eyes it warily. It's  _lemon._ Who likes  _lemon_ yoghurt? "You love physics."

"It's less about that test, to be fair," Jane says, running a hand through her hair. Jane is pretty, in a blond pixie kind of way. She is also smart as a razor, which is why Darcy likes her. Also because Jane never told anyone about that time Darcy ripped her skirt, and had to tie a sweater around her waist so no one could see her knickers.

"Do you have to do that stupid group project thing?" Jane asks, fist tightening around her fork. "It's part of the curriculum this year. We're having to do it all classes for part of our final grade, and I've been paired with Tony Stark."

"I have no sympathy," Darcy moans, "I got paired with Tony  _and_ Steve."

"I thought you liked Steve?"

"I do. Tony doesn't. And Steve doesn't like Tony. It's like a fucked up literary love triangle. Only everyone hates each other."

"Tony is an  _infant,"_ Jane says, with such disdain it makes Darcy crack up, "Trust me, he's probably the smartest in the class, but all he does is crack jokes and look down my shirt."

"I'm pretty certain he cracked Steve's shin today," Darcy mutters, licking some yoghurt off her spoon. Lemon doesn't suck too badly. "He tripped him up on the way to his desk."

Jane raises an eyebrow. "Don't pretend you've never done that."

Darcy presses a hand to her chest. "I would  _never."_

"Darcy, last week you broke Luke's nose by 'accidentally' hitting him with a hockey ball."

"Yeah well, Luke's a bag of dicks. He tried to sneak into the girl's changing room. I just had a problem with my motor skills."

Jane laughs. "Right."

Darcy just grins at her, snatching a slice of cucumber off her plate. They chat for the rest of lunch, giggling over the newest episode of  _Teen Wolf,_ and Darcy's recent desire for a husky puppy.

The bell's just about to ring, when Steve comes over. Clint Barton's with him, looking bored and languid. "Hey, Darcy. I was wondering if you wanted to do some work for our project in the library? I think there's some books in there that would be useful."

Steve beams hopefully, dimples showing in the apples of his cheeks. Darcy has an overwhelming urge to pat his head and tell him not to spend all his pennies at once.

"Sounds good," Darcy shrugs, "Can I bring my laptop as well? We might be able to find some more recent analysis that we could link to our interpretations."

"Yeah, that's a great idea," Steve smiles, blue eyes lighting up, "I better go tell Tony."

His face falls at that, chewing his bottom lip, white teeth digging into pale skin. Clint snorts, rolling his eyes and bumping Steve's shoulder. "Get it over with, Rogers. Like pulling off a plaster."

"Shut up," Steve grumbles, but he and Clint share a look of amusement. Clint bumps his shoulder once more before waving at the girls, tugging one of Steve's backpack straps. 

"Bye," Steve says politely, before hissing at Clint. "Ow, cut it out, Clint."

Jane watches them, eyes narrowed, before saying, "You've got your work cut out, Lewis."

"You're laughing at me," Darcy says haughtily, "But who's your physics partner again?"

The speed in which the smirk falls of Jane's face is extremely satisfying.

 

 

 

 

Darcy should have the library wouldn't have been safe.

She has English first period on Thursday, and they've already cleared it with their teacher to spend it in the library. Darcy's running late as is - she had to help her mom get her little brother ready this morning, so she had to run to school.

She had to take an emergency detour to the bathroom, kicking out some girls with her death stare. Her eyeliner is wonky, she's panting, and her glasses are threatening to slip off her nose. She is not going to be winning Miss America any time soon.

So when she gets to the library, she has a serious moment of deliberation. She can practically hear the school gates calling, tempting her with a day off, of comfy pyjamas and chick flicks.

However, Darcy may be a badass, but she's not badass enough to withstand her mom's disappointed look. It's like kicking Bambi.

She slopes in and takes the nearest seat, turning on her laptop and flicking her mouse in an attempt to get it to wake up. The screen flashes at her. Fucker.

There's a noise behind her and she glances over at the library shelves. Tilting her chair back, she can just see Steve and Tony standing in one of the aisles.

Steve is carrying at least six books, frail hands clutching the corners in attempt not to drop them. Tony has an exasperated look on his face, face pinched in frustration.

"Just let me give you a hand!" Tony snaps. The thing is, his voice is fraught with irritation, but his body language is totally juxtaposed.

Every time Steve takes a step, Darcy can see Tony match it, clever eyes calculating which position to be in if Steve's book tower comes tumbling down. Tony's shoulders are hunched, the line of his back curved in worry.

"I'm fine," Steve answers, even though Darcy can barely see his head over the stack of books, "Anyway, you'll probably just pretend to help me, then hilariously drop them all. It'll all be very cliche and exaggerated."

"Jeez, when did you become so cynical, Rogers?" Tony asks, crossing his arms as he leans back against one of the shelves, eyes still trained on Tony. "Who broke your heart?"

"You did," Steve says bluntly, "Except it was my shin bone, and Clint's toe."

"You're not still bitter about that?" Tony begins, but then the pile of books begin to tremble, clattering to the floor with a thud. Steve flushes, colour flooding to his cheeks. He sighs, bending down, slowly begins to gather the books to his chest. Darcy expects Tony to makes some wisecrack, but he just bends down wordlessly, helping to gather the books as well.

They both stand, each holding an equal amount of books. Darcy can see Steve chew the inside of his cheek, blinking a couple of times as he looks at Tony. "Thanks," he says finally, and the words sound foreign even to Darcy's ears.

Tony looks as though he wants to say something sarky, but he hesitates. There's a moment of silence between them, Steve's eyes fixed on the books in Tony's hands, Tony's eyes fixed on the floor.

"Whatever. Sharing is caring," he says finally. Then he snickers. "That's what she said."

"Oh my god," Steve says, but Darcy can see the way he ducks his head in amusement.

Her computer beeps at her, demanding a password, and Darcy tears her gaze away, taps out a few letters on her keyboard.

 

 

 

 

When Steve comes out, Darcy first hears it through rumours. Malicious pieces of gossip that flit through the school, giggles from a girl during track, shouts from a football player when she gets jostled in the line for lunch.

It's someone in Spanish that finally says something.

Darcy sits next to Natasha Romanov in Spanish.

They don't talk.

This is because Darcy is vaguely intimidated of the length of Natasha's nails and if that's her real hair colour.

Anyway, Luke behind her is shouting his mouth off about something, and Darcy's not really listening. Luke's not really that bad, just a bit of a tool to be honest, but then Darcy hears the word 'Steve' and 'fag.'

She doesn't think she's heard right, but then she hears it again, swivelling around in her chair. "What?" she blurts before she can help it, and Luke pauses, blinking at her. "What did you stay about Steve?"

"Well, he's a fag, isn't he?" Luke says slowly. He looks uncomfortable, eyes darting back and forth. "Ashley heard him telling his friend about it."

Natasha very, very carefully, turns around in her chair. She raises one eyebrow at Luke. Luke swallows.

"A fag," Darcy repeats icily, "A fag."

Luke nods. "Well - yeah. He likes guys, doesn't he? Probably perves on all the football players in the changing rooms."

"Even if Steve was gay," Darcy says, tone diamond hard, "You should never call someone something like that."

"Not to mention," Natasha says silkily, giving Luke a look that suggests she wants to rip out his internal organs, "Being gay doesn't mean you lose all  _taste,_ and you are so not even within an  _inch_ of Steve's standards."

"What she said," Darcy snaps, turning back around. She feels as though this is a high five moment, but Natasha looks worried, shoulders set. She purses her lips, shooting Darcy a fleeting glance before she turns back to her work.

A feeling on unease settles in Darcy's bones, a restlessness settling under her skin. The way Natasha's eyes have darkened sets on her edge, the tension palpable.

She catches Natasha's arm as the bell rings. "Natasha, that was a rumour, right? Luke just spreading shit." Natasha cocks her head to one side, so Darcy quickly amends. "Not that there's anything wrong with it, obviously! Pro-homo and all, just - " She pauses, voicing what's being playing on her mind. "I can't see Steve sharing something so personal as that with the whole school."

Natasha pauses, and Darcy can see her deliberating over whether she wants to reveal something or not. "He wouldn't," she says finally, then turns on her heel to her next class.

Darcy's not sure how to take that, but it leaves her with a sick feeling in her stomach.

 

 

 

 

When Steve walks into English the next day, he has a black eye.

It's a mottled purple against Steve's skin, the mauve staining his skin like ink, permanent and dark as it ruins its' pale canvas. His lip is split, red raw and painful to just  _see._

There's a hush as he walks in, taking his usual seat. Darcy looks at his eyes, a little fearful, but Steve looks calm if anything, proud. His chin has a jut to it, his narrowed shoulders set. He looks so  _brave_ it makes Darcy's heart hurt.

No one makes a comment, no one cat calls, and Darcy realises they're  _scared._ Scared of stick thin Steve Rogers, who's like a little lion, not asking for reassurance, or pity, or any kind of acknowledgement that anything has happened at all. 

Miss Mayes comes in soon after, eyes sweeping over the class. She flinches when she catches sight of Steve, recoiling a little. Her mouth sets in a firm line, and her voice is stern when she tells them to get into their groups.

Steve moves next to Darcy, giving her a smile that's a little too grim. Tony sits down awkwardly, pulling his chair up to their desk. There's a silence, before Tony clears his throat.

"Have you got a partner for gym next?"

Steve blinks. Darcy blinks. Tony blinks back. There's a lot of blinking.

"Well he sure as hell isn't talking to me," Darcy says finally, then kicks Steve under the table.

"Um," Steve says eloquently, eyeing Tony suspiciously, "No?"

"I just noticed Barton has split knuckles," Tony says casually, leaning back in his seat, "He was bleeding all over the desk earlier, it was disgusting. So yeah. He probably won't be doing any sport. And since you two are like freaky Siamese twins, do you want to partner with me?"

Darcy is socially aware enough that she realises this one huge fucking olive branch. By pure stereotype if anyone's going to be a bigoted dick, it's going to be in gym. 

Steve stares at Tony, and Darcy can see the confusion and apprehension lick across his face. It's the first insecurity she's seen since Steve's stepped into the room. Tony is uncharacteristically subdued, but his eyes are blazing, intent.

"Depends," Steve says finally, dragging the word out, "Are you a good catcher?"

"Nah, I'm more of a pitcher myself," Tony smirks, then blanches, "Shit. Fuck. That wasn't a deliberate gay joke. Fuck."

All the tension in the room snaps like an elastic band stretched too far. Steve laughs, and Darcy laughs purely at Tony's panicked expression.

"Breathe, Tony," Steve grins, little lines around his eyes crinkling as he smiles, "It's fine. As long as your sport skills are better than your driving skills."

"What the fuck, Rogers, just reject my act of kindness, jesus - " _  
_

If Darcy was in a sappy rom-com, she'd probably say something about _that was the moment it changed,_ or,  _the atmosphere was as beautifully strung as a vintage violin,_ or,  _if there was a time to be remembered - this was it._

But she's not in a sappy rom-com, she's a 15 year old girl with an English project to finish. She has to got time to romanticise the interactions of two teenage boys. 

Tony and Steve are still bickering, but there's a softness to it, a tentative gentleness just testing the waters. There's less take and more give, a cautiousness to their biting remarks.

It's freaking  _annoying._ Projects don't write _themselves._ How is it Darcy got landed with the most socially inept teenage boys in the class?

 

 

 

(It's kind of cute.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos please? And comments? It makes me update faster and _trust me_ it means so so much :)
> 
> Also sorry for any spelling mistakes I've got a massive headache going on :P


	3. Bruce 'please Tony no' Banner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't pretend to know anything about childhood trauma or alcoholism so please don't chew me out!

Bruce doesn't bat an eyelid when Tony says they're sitting at Steve Roger's table at lunch.

Tony says it with his cloak of swagger and bravado as usual, covering all his insecurities with a smirk tugging his lips and one hand messing up his hair. Bruce is unimpressed. He's known Tony long enough to see the cracks in Tony's armour. Smirks and hair ruffling don't hide what's in your eyes. (Though Bruce thinks Tony might be working on that, which makes something curl in his stomach.

Bruce just says, "Whatever," and trails after Tony. Tony tends to make everything explode and be bigger than it is, which is why Bruce is good for him. Bruce doesn't care where they sit, as long as no one ask him about throwing chairs last year.

Predictably, the first thing Clint Barton says to him is, "Are you the kid that went ape shit and broke a window last year?"

Tony gapes. Bruce feels every single one of his muscles lock up, feels adrenaline begin to spike in his body. He opens his mouth, explanations and dry remarks and excuses ready to come tumbling out, when Steve Rogers sighs. "Shut up, Clint. Jesus, I can't take you anywhere."

Clint glares at Steve, arguing back straight away, Bruce's barbarity quickly forgotten. Steve winks at him, not once pausing in his discussion with Clint, and Bruce wonders if it was deliberate. People underestimate Steve, because he's small and blond, but Bruce hasn't forgotten the way he stood up for himself when the gay rumours were going round. 

Tony slides in next to Bruce, then smiles at Natasha Romanov. Natasha raises an eyebrow. Tony beams. "Hey, Nat. How's your day going?"

"Before? Fantastic," Natasha answers, "Right now? I'm experiencing some homicidal urges."

"Awe, Bruce isn't that bad," Tony grins, slapping Bruce on the back. Bruce almost chokes on the bite he was just about to eat. "I mean, he's a bit of a nerd, but nothing worth murdering."

"Funnily enough, he wasn't my intended target," Natasha says, rolling her eyes. Bruce eyes her plastic fork warily. He's not sure she should be allowed near weapons. "What are you doing here? Come to join the Steve Roger's gay alliance?"

Steve pauses in his argument with Clint. "Hey, I'm not some charity case."

"Rogers, you're a walking charity case," Tony says, spearing a piece of his pasta. "Lewis wants to have your babies, by the way."

Steve flushes crimson. "Darcy - no she doesn't."

"She does, she's named them. She showed me your and her's future family tree in English."

Steve mouths the words  _family tree._ "Good thing I'm gay then, isn't it?" he says finally, hint of warning in his voice.

Tony shrugs. "You could be bi-sexual. You never know. Darcy could be your intended, your soulmate, your - "

"Why do you care?" Clint cuts in, raising an eyebrow, "You jealous?"

"No," Tony says automatically, and the thing is, it sounds completely true, scathing and bored. But Bruce hears the barely distinguishable crack in Tony's voice. "Why, are you?"

"Of course," Clint snorts, elbowing Steve, "Me and Steve have been betrothed since children. Steve, can I be in the gay alliance?"

Natasha snorts. "Clint, you're not gay."

Clint frowns. "I could be."

"Not dressed like that."

Tony gapes at her. "Did you just make a  _Teen Wolf_ joke? That was a  _Teen Wolf_ joke, high five." He holds his hand out expectantly. Natasha ignores him, and high fives Clint instead. 

"I feel _betrayed_ ," Tony huffs, "Steve, high five me." Steve looks confused, but complies, slapping his palm against Tony's. Bruce resists the urge to bury his face in his hands. He has no idea what Tony's doing, but he really wishes he would stop.

Principle Fury walks over that moment, tray of food in his hands. He gives their table a once over, double takes, then glares at them. "This," he growls, gesturing with his spoon at the table, "This I don't like."

"Well, sir," Tony says innocently, "That's a good thing, considering we're all under age - "

No one is surprised when Tony gets a detention.

 

 

 

 

Bruce is at a house party. He has no idea how he's got here, only that everyone is either drinking or screwing. Or both. Presumably there was a lot of alcohol blurring Lucy Turner's senses before she dragged Matt Dawson upstairs. Lucy's blond and energetic; Matt vaguely resembles the mountain troll from Harry Potter.

  
Thankfully, Steve staggers over at that moment, finger hooked into the rim of a beer bottle. Bruce head hurts a little when he sees Steve is wearing a fresh button up, clearly ironed, even though everyone around him is in various states of undress. He swallows nervously, eyes lighting up when they fall on Bruce, dropping down next to him on the sofa.

"Thought you couldn't drink?" Bruce asks, nudging Steve with his knee. He blinks, then double takes. Steve's still three pounds short of a skeleton, but Bruce can see where he's beginning to tone up - just a little. He notes how Steve's hands are huge and awkward, at odds with the rest of his body. His jaw line is just showing, the curve of his neck revealing his Adam's apple.

"I don't," Steve shrugs, gesturing to his bottle. "It's full. But a bottle in your hand stops people trying to ply you with drinks."

"Huh," Bruce says, impressed. Maybe little Steve Rogers is growing up after all. "Where's Clint scampered off to?"

Steve rolls his eyes, affection lined in that single gesture. "Playing beer pong. He and Natasha have teamed up, they're obliterating the competition."

Bruce snorts. "It's just beer pong."

Steve crooks an eyebrow. "You've met Natasha, right?" His fingers play with the edge of the bottle, tapping out a staccato rhythm. "How come you're not drinking?"

Bruce has the same bullshit excuse he always uses on his tongue, right there, when he freezes. The true story slips, unbidden, falling him from his lips like he's expelling poison. "My dad was an alcoholic."

Steve turns to look at him, very, very slowly. He doesn't react outwardly, doesn't pat Bruce on the shoulder, or tell he's sorry, or tries to give him a hug. He just stares at Bruce, tongue running over his lips, and something in Bruce - relaxes.

"So was mine," Steve says finally, and Bruce finds he isn't surprised. Tony swore when he told him, his neighbour laughed, cruel and mocking, his therapist gave him a pamphlet.

You don't react like that if you've been through it. Because apologies, and pieces of papers, and gestures - however well meaning - don't mean shit. Not in the end. In the end you have to deal with it. You have to stop flinching at the rattle of glass when a door slams, or when a plate gets dropped in a busy restaurant. People can help, people can try, but at the end of the day it's your burden to bear. It's not fair, but - when is life? His therapist doesn't agree, but whatever.

"You're good with Tony," Steve says finally, fingers starting their tapping again. "He relies on you. He lets you see behind all the layers."

Bruce shrugs, feeling warm, the ghost of painful memories trailing away with Steve's words. "Tony's not that complicated. He just likes to think he is."

Steve laughs, but the sound is a little hollow. "He's plenty complicated to me."

Bruce side eyes him, sees the way Steve's shoulders slump, staring morosely at his beer bottle. He opens his mouth to say something, when the very devil they were talking about stumbles into the room.

Tony's fucking _smashed_ , and Bruce feels his insides clench at the sight of him. Thor Odinson is dragging him along, looking amused as Tony hangs off him. They look comical, Thor's massive frame bending down to accommodate Tony's smaller one. Tony's hair is standing up at the back, little chestnut tufts. His face is red, his lips slack, but he's free from any obvious hickeys, which Bruce is grateful for.

Thor hobbles over, Tony clinging on like a limpet. Thor's in a blue shirt that stretches across his massive frame, beaming wildly. Thor is possibly insane, but he also smiles all the time, so Bruce resists the urge to back away slowly.

"You've lost something, Banner," Thor grins, gently pulling Tony away and pushing him towards them, "I caught him trying to serenade the bathroom door."

"Perfect," Bruce sighs, "He wasn't, um - "

"He didn't have his cock out, no," Thor says cheerfully, "See you later, men. I've been challenged to a drinking game by Sif." He looks positively delighted to be challenged by Sif, who is the brunette equivalent of Natasha, waving at them happily before he skips off.

"That was weird," Bruce says, watching Thor flip his hair as he goes. He turns to Steve. "That was weird, right?"

Steve, however, is pretty occupied. Tony has sprawled in his lap like a cat, curling up small, his head in Steve's lap. "Good Steve," Tony's babbling, eyes closing for longer and longer every time he blinks, "Pretty Steve. Stay there and be a blond pillow."

"Um," Steve says, but that's apparently the end of Tony's eloquence, because his eyes slide shut, breath evening out. Bruce is about to offer to take him home, but something stops him, tells him to see how Steve reacts.

Tony's shirt collar is yanked wide, and Bruce watches as Steve straightens it, covers up the slither of skin it reveals with careful, steady hands. Tony snuffles in his sleep, and Steve hesitates, before carefully stroking Tony's hair. His fingers are deft and gentle, carding through Tony's hair with a tenderness that makes Bruce's breath catch. Tony seems to enjoy it, because he snuggles closer, Steve's fingers running slowly through the dark strands. Bruce knows Tony's hair must be sweaty and gross from dancing, from drinking, but you would never know it from the expression on Steve's face.

 

Complicated Bruce's ass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's so short, I find Bruce really hard to write :P
> 
> ON THE BRIGHT SIDE THOR IS BACK! HELLO BABY HAVE SOME WAFFLES AND A HUG DARLING :)


	4. Natasha 'man the fuck up' Romanov

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in two days hellll yeah :)
> 
> I'm back at school tomorrow which sucks, so I'm trying to get as much of this up as possible :P I'm going to try and make the chapters a bit longer, as well as having some really stony action which would be good lol :)

Natasha doesn't know what's going on with Steve and Tony, but something  _is_ going on, and it's freaking her out. 

The weekend after parties are always amusing (well to those who didn't get absolutely drunk out of their minds.) Clint in particular cracks her up. He's wearing a pair of obnoxiously large sunglasses, looking like an advert for teenage delinquents with his hood up, his hands shoved in his pockets. He trudges up to her locker like it's the crawl of a dying man.

Natasha slams her locker door.

Clint punches her in the face, only it misses, and it ends up three inches away from her hip. Natasha snorts. "Clint, that wasn't even in the right direction."

"You know what the right direction is?" Clint demands, voice raspy, "Anywhere away from booze. Darling, darling Natasha, please show me towards the nearest dark room. Or just lock me in a dark room. I don't care."

"It's not my fault you suck at beer pong," Natasha grins, but Clint does look adorably pathetic, so she runs a hand through his hair affectionately. "Where's Steve?"

Clint's face clouds, slipping off his sunglasses and shoving them into his back pocket. His eyes are red rimmed, and he's a bit pale, but he hasn't vomited yet, which Natasha takes as a good sign. "Talking to Tony about drinking."

Even Natasha knows this isn't a good idea. "Uh, what?"

"Steve took Tony home from that party," Clint explains, "He was out of it. From what Steve's said, Tony collapsed on his lap, then Steve helped Bruce drag him home. Well, to Bruce's home."

"So?" Natasha says, raising an eyebrow, "So Steve took on the role of babysitter, raise your hand if you're surprised. Which is no one. What's the problem?"

"Well," Clint says slowly, opening his locker door like it's a hand grenade that may explode at any moment. He picks out his books gingerly, placing them into his bag. "Do you think Stark's going to react well to the safe drinking talk? Tony Stark - you remember him right. Up until a short while ago, he hated Steve for getting on his case for almost hitting me with a  _car._ You think he's going to react rationally to this?" _  
_

Natasha thinks about it, then says, "No."

Clint snorts, then winces at the noise it makes. "Exactly. Steve was making that little, earnest face he does, the one where his eyes get all big and soulful."

Natasha cocks her head to one side. "Was he pouting?"

"Yep."

"Shit."

" _Exactly,_ " Clint says miserably, "There's going to be shouting. My head already feels like it's been stamped on by lions."

"I don't think lions stamp," Natasha says thoughtfully, biting her lip, "Because they have paws, so their feet would be all fluffy. Maybe an elephant, or a rhino - "

"Shut up, Natasha," Clint mutter, and Natasha cracks up, "Come on, Steve dragged Tony off to the bathrooms to talk to him. I want to eavesdrop. Not that I can hear anything through the jack hammer in my head."

In all fairness, Natasha wants to hear it as much as Clint, but she also doesn't want to skulk around by the boy's urinals. Because her reputation of _the foreigner with great legs that hangs around with tiny Steve Rogers_  was hard earned, okay? She doesn't need to add creepy, toilet stalker to it as well.

As is, Natasha doesn't actually make that choice herself, but just as they turn the corner, Steve and Tony come barrelling out. Tony pushes the door open with such force it smacks the wall, face pinched in anger. Steve follows after him, face pinched in concern.

"I don't need you to quote the safe drinking manual," Tony snaps, whirling around when Steve grabs his arm, "Just because you've never had a drink in your life - "

"Yeah, because I'm not an  _idiot,"_ Steve snaps, voice high and brittle, and Tony hesitates, stumbles as if he's hit an invisible wall, "I just don't want you to get hurt! You were completely out of it on Saturday, me and Bruce had to carry you home."

Immediately, Tony's anger flares up again, an angry sneer twisting his face. "Oh, I'm sorry to be such a burden, then," Tony snarls, "I'm sorry I ruined your evening of being teetotal and boring, I'm sorry your little schedule of watching  _everyone_ else drink was ruined, Rogers - " _  
_

"I don't care about everyone else," Steve argues back, and Natasha has never heard him so upset, "I care about you, what if something had happened? If someone had - taking advantage of you?"

Clint fists a hand in the side of Natasha's t-shirt, hand hot against her side. Steve is biting his lip, looking down at the ground. His face is slightly red, as if that was the most uncomfortable thing he's ever had to say. 

Tony laughs. 

Natasha wants to punch him.

"You're kidding, right?" Tony spits, and his face is hard, lined with resentment and anger, "I've been blowing boys in bathrooms since I was 14. Trust me, I am thoroughly deflowered, I don't need a chaperone."

"And that's a good thing?" Steve asks, and his voice is so soft.

"I don't need you to judge my decisions, Steve. To mark them out of ten on how scandalous they are, fuck." Tony breaks off, breathing heavily. He runs a hand over his face, and when he looks up he looks tired, teeth sinking into his bottom lip, bruising them red.

"I'm just worried," Steve says finally, and he looks tired too. His shoulders are slumped, and Natasha realises Steve looks  _small,_ which makes her head hurt.

"Well, it doesn't get much better than this," Tony says finally, and he sounds like he truly believes that. They look like mirror images of each other, heads down, the line of their backs weary.

"Okay, Tony," Steve says finally, and it sounds - flat. "If that's what you want. Clint, Tasha, you can come out now."

Natasha jumps, but Steve just smiles sadly. He glances at Tony one last time, before pushing past her and Clint. Tony watches him go, balling his hands into fists. Natasha gets a swooping feeling in her stomach, and she really, really doesn't like it. 

 

 

 

 

"It's like they've broken up," Clint hisses.

Natasha kicks him under the table. Clint will never understand subtlety. Natasha should have given up trying years ago. "Clint, remember when we had that little chat about tact? This would be a great time to put it into practise."

"Jeez, chill," Clint glares, ripping open a packet of crisps with more force than needed, "I'm just saying, Steve is moping around, Tony is moping around - it's like a break up. I'm pretty certain Steve is going to break out the popcorn and chick flicks at any moment."

"Yeah, but you're missing the key feature of the film," Natasha argues, stabbing a piece of her salad, "They're not  _together._ Hence, they never broke up. Hence, they're not acting like they have."

Clint scowls at her, about to argue, when Bruce sits down at their table. He places his tray down carefully, eyeing Clint up. "What?"

"Is Tony moping?" Clint demands instantly, "Steve is moping. Tony has to be moping."

"Um," Bruce says, which is his standard response to Clint's enthusiasm, "I guess. He's swearing more than usual. And his caffeine intake is up by 200%, so."

"See," Clint says accusingly, turning to Natasha with wide eyes, "His caffeine intake's up by  _200%."_

"I don't think we should be talking about this," Bruce says quietly, pushing his glasses further up his nose, "Tony would be upset if he knew we were talking about him. And when he's upset he blows things up."

"It's just one argument, Steve was just be caring," Clint frowns, because he is loyal to a fault, "Tony over-reacted."

"I guess," Bruce mutters, lips pinching unhappily, "I don't - I don't know. Tony's not very good with people who care about him."

Clint opens his mouth - probably to put his foot in it - then shuts it abruptly when Steve walks into the canteen. Steve looks more worn then usual, his eyes lacking their usual sparkle. He's talking quietly to a girl from his art class - Peggy, Natasha thinks her name is. Steve's nodding, and Peggy pulls something from her bag, handing it to Steve.

There's an awkward silence when Steve sits down. Steve notice until about halfway through his sandwich, then freezes. He blinks up at them. "Um, did someone die?"

"Just your growth spurt," Clint says immediately, which leads to a round of bickering. Natasha sees Clint give her a sly look, which she returns with a pointed eyebrow. Clint just grins.

 

 

 

 

"I saw you talking to Peggy today," Natasha says casually on the way home. Clint has track today so it's just her and Steve. Steve has his bag hitched up on his back, but his breath doesn't catch as much as it did before.

"Oh yeah," Steve says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, "She's in my art class. She's always been really nice to me, she actually punched a guy who was bothering me before."

Natasha raises an eyebrow, eliciting a laugh from Steve. "What, you though you were the only girl in school with a mean right hook, Romanov?"

"Shut up," Natasha says warningly, but Steve just laughs.

"Ooh, how does it feel not being the most intimidating female to roam the hall?" Steve teases, "Your prom queen votes are threatened - "

Natasha shoves him, but it's  _Steve,_ so he stumbles and crashes into a bush. Natasha laughs so hard her ribs hurt, especially when Steve gets a twig stuck in his hair. She pulls it out, giving the strands a little tug. "What were you saying about intimidating, Rogers?"

"You're mean," Steve says flatly, giving her a betrayed look. Natasha doesn't buy it, she's known him too long. " _Anyway,_ before I was assaulted, Peggy gave me a leaflet for an art course over the summer."

"Oh?" Natasha asks, smiling, "Is it all summer?"

"Yeah," Steve says enthusiastically, eyes lighting up, "You get to try all types of mediums, as well as displaying some of your work at the end. And it's free, the person who funds it came from a really rough background, so he sees it as a way of helping children who - "

"Are dirt poor."

"Struggle financially, but that works too."

"You're going to go, right?" Natasha asks suspiciously, because if Steve feels this course will affect his mom he won't go. It's free, so that's one tick in the box, but Natasha knows Steve will wriggle out of it with expertise if he has to.

"Yeah," Steve says firmly, but there's a guilty twist to his lips.

"What is it?"

"What?"

"Don't give me that, you look like a smacked puppy. What's holding you back?"

"Well," Steve says cautiously, blushing under Natasha's scrutiny, "One of mom's friends passed away recently, but the funeral's in California. I figured it would save her the hassle of taking me along. It's not that close, and she'd be able to spend some time with her friends there as well. It was this or military camp - "

"You were considering _military camp_?" Natasha gapes, staring at him, "Steve, you could have stayed at one of ours - "

"Natasha," Steve says softly, but he's got that look in his hair, "You know I wouldn't do that."

Natasha bites her lip, then pulls him in for a hug. She pulls him close, squeezing him quickly before stepping back. "One day you won't be an idiot," she says, and neither of them mention the fact her voice cracks, "Have fun, okay? Release your inner spirit or whatever it is your supposed to do."

"Sure," Steve says mockingly, but he's smiling at her, expression softer than he's seen it for day. "It's all summer, though. I'll miss you guys. Clint wanted to start a water war."

"You mean a water fight?"

"No, he specifically used the word war."

"Right." Natasha clears her throat. "You told Tony yet?"

"No," Steve says after a long pause, then sighs, which tells Natasha everything she needs to know.

 

 

 

 

Clint almost cries when Steve tells him he's going away for the summer. He says something along the lines of "You were our  _strategist,"_ then hugs Steve like he's going off to war. 

Steve is not going off to war. Steve is going off to art camp. Clint doesn't seem to recognise this distinction, but he does say, "Have you told Stark?" which shows Clint is more perceptive then he's given credit for.

Steve blushes, then mumbles a no. Clint gives him a look, then a deadline, saying if Steve doesn't tell Tony then he will. Steve tells Clint he's way too invested in their relationship, but grudgingly agrees to do it. It's probably because Clint says Steve owes him for abandoning him. Natasha makes a mental note to give him a high five for emotional manipulation later.

Natasha actually gets to see it happen, purely by accident (shut up, Clint), and she can honestly say it is the awkwardest thing she's ever seen. 

They're in the art room, Natasha helping Steve pick out pieces for his portfolio. Peggy is there as well, and she reminds Natasha of one of those portraits you find in stately homes, of sad eyes women in beautiful dresses.

She may just be projecting because of the English accent.

Either way, Peggy is very, very pretty, and also very good with art. Peggy and Natasha are just offering their opinions on Steve's landscapes, when the door creaks open. Natasha turns to see Tony standing there. He looks like he has no idea how he got there, cheeks tinted pink as though he's been running.

Silence rings through the room, and Steve's eyes widen. Tony's shuffling, looking anywhere but at Steve. Steve steps forward, and the movement must jolt Tony, because he takes a step back, head snapping up. It's like some kind of weird dance, Natasha thinks, one even those two don't know the steps too.

"Have fun at art camp," Tony blurts, then flees, turning tail and legging it before Steve can say a word. 

"Boys," Natasha mutters, because it's the only thing she can think of right now. Peggy smirks beside her, and she catches her eyes, smirking back.

"This one?" Peggy suggests, turning back to the drawings, and Natasha glances at Steve.

Steve's smiling, this huge, sappy smile that burns bright and fills the whole room. "That one," he agrees softly, and he doesn't stop grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! kudos and comments makes my day :)


	5. Clint (again that little cupcake)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baccckkkk! I am so sorry this has taken ages, I am a horrible slacker and I hate real life, and like. Fuck off UCAS. 
> 
> Maria Hill is in this chapter purely because of the need Ultron trailer, of them being super bros and all drinking beers ect. If you haven't watched it I don't know what you're doing reading this.
> 
> ONEGOODEYE YES THAT IS A REFERENCE TO YOU
> 
> ENJOY :)

Clint’s summer is disappointing for two reasons. One, he doesn't win the great water balloon war of 2014. Natasha does, but only because she lures people in with her bikini then soaks them. Secondly, Steve comes back, and Clint doesn't recognise him. Literally. For a second he thinks Steve may have had a hot, older brother he never told them about.

Steve’s about six inches taller, his shoulders broader, his arms actually are more than sticks now. Clint gapes at him for five seconds, then slams the door shut. Well, Steve’s door.

Steve opens it more than a second later, frowning. “Hey, don’t slam my door.”

“What happened to you?” Clint demands, “You have like, muscles and stuff. Are you really Steve Rogers? Oh my god, you killed him didn’t you? Where’s his body, what did you do?”

Steve crinkles his nose up. His jaw line is far more pronounced now. Clint can still see the lingering traces of childhood; his wrists as still thin and brittle, his waist slim, but the growth spurt is more than evident.

“No one kidnapped me,” Steve says, hurt, “I just worked out a lot. There was a sports course running at the same place as the art course. It was like one big activity centre. I went to the gym sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” Clint repeats dryly, “You look like you slept in there.”

Steve shuffles his feet, hands jammed in his pockets, and Clint’s heart aches at the familiar mannerism. “Do I look stupid?"

“Steve,” Clint says seriously, “You look hot. If I swung that way, I would let you fuck me. I may still let you. You can be my super hot boy toy."

"You can't afford me," Steve says seriously, and that's when Clint knows it's still his Steve. He bumps with his shoulder, (which actually hurts now, what the fuck), before delving into a deep analysis of his summer. Steve tells him about his art course in return, and it's not until they get to school that Clint begins to realise people are staring at them.

Not loads, it's not like some teen comedy, but enough that Clint notices. One girl from their year opens her mouth to greet them, only to crinkles her face up in confusion. A group of freshman girls start giggling with Steve walks by, hiding their faces behind their folders. Steve is blissfully ignorant, instead gushing about his use of watercolours. 

"Hey, Luna," Steve says suddenly, pausing in his rant to greet a girl from their home room, "Did you have a nice summer?"

Luna blushes pink, then mutters, "You clearly did," before scuttling off as if she's escaping the fires of hell. There's probably a hot joke to be made there. 

"Did I upset her?" Steve says, bewildered, watching Luna go with confused eyes.

"I think your abs did," Clint says seriously, "But your biceps are also causing serious grievances."

"Oh," Steve says sadly, tugging at the sleeves of his short sleeved shirt, "Do you think this shirt isn't appropriate for school, then?"

Clint blinks at him. "Jesus, no, what - look people think you're  _hot_ now."

Steve looks supremely uncomfortable about this, tugging at the sleeves of his shirt as if that will stop his muscles being so toned. "Oh," he says in a strangled voice, "Er, I guess that's nice?"

"I don't even know why I'm friends with you," Clint says honestly, slapping Steve's hands away from his shirt, " _Leave it._ Come on, I want to see Darcy's reaction. And Tony's. Definitely Tony's."

"Tony's?" Steve squeaks, which just makes Clint cackles, pulling him down the corridor as fast as he can. He kind of misses the days when Steve was 90 pounds sopping wet. It's must harder to drag him places.

Everyone's thrown down on the grass when the get there, attempting to soak up all the rays of sun they can before they're forced into a stuffy classroom. 

Tony's laughing next to Bruce, elbowing him in the side repeatedly. Bruce is pretending to ignore him, but Clint can see his crooked smile from here. Natasha is talking to Darcy, sunglasses on as if she's a famous celebrity making a cameo. Darcy is looking at her with vague awe. Clint can sympathise.

"Don't get up," Clint says grandly, kicking Tony's bag away as he saunters other, "I know you all missed us."

"What the hell," Darcy says slowly, "Is that?"

Clint glances behind him, where Steve is standing awkwardly. "Oh, Steve, you've met him? Last year? Blonde. Anyway, guess what I heard - "

"Are those even  _real?"_ Darcy asks, who is now staring at Steve as though she's never seen a teenage boy before. Clint pouts in irritation.

"I would say so," Clint snaps, "Guess what rumour I heard - "

"I need to touch them," Darcy says seriously, getting up and beginning to grope Steve. Steve looks as though he's trying to tell her the politest way to fuck off. "Tash, get over here. Our baby's all grown up and rippling pectorals."

Natasha lifts her sunglasses and winks at Steve, who looks as though he may cry. "You look good," she agrees, then smirks, "Don't you think he looks good, Tony?"

Tony has gone bright red, cheeks dusted with a faint pink. He clears his throat awkwardly, glancing up from under his eyelashes. "Yeah, I er, see the about the pecs. Definitely, um, rippling. And distracting. And prominent. Far more prominent than last year - "

"Tony," Bruce says casually, and Tony snaps his mouth shut.

The bell rings at that point but Clint sees the way Steve ducks his head, mouth curving up in a little smile. Clint, Steve and Tony all have home room in the same direction, so Clint trails after them. "Was your art thingy good?" Tony asks carefully, eyes flicking to Steve.

"Thingy?" Steve teases, grinning, "Yeah, the 'thingy' was great."

"Sorry I didn't brush up on the complexities of artistic vocabulary," Tony retorts, "I had far more interesting things to do with my summer."

"Like what?"

" _Science."_

"Sooo, you and Bruce spent your summer putting mentos in coke."

Tony pauses, then says haughtily, "It was  _Pepsi,_ actually."

Steve just laughs, shaking his head. The little lines around Tony's eyes crinkle a little. Clint didn't even know Tony had crinkly smile lines. 

"So what's with the new look?" Tony asks casually, only he looks at Steve a beat too long and almost smacks into an open locker door. Clint doesn't try to hide his grin. "Not that you weren't rocking asthmatic meets scrawny."

"Charming." Steve rolls his eyes, the edge of amusement creeping into his voice. "I just -  there was a gym there."

"What, and you rented it?" Tony cuts in, smirking, "If you weren't drawing, you were pumping iron, way to fight stereotypes, Steve."

This is terrible. It's like Clint's not here. He has a childish urge to snatch Steve away from Tony. It's like he's friend-jealous. 

"Steve, this is our form room," Clint sighs, "Unless you want to get a detention on your first day, we better move it."

"Like Steve will ever get a detention," Tony snorts, crossing his arms and giving Steve an appraising sort of look.

"Like you ever  _won't,_ " Steve replies, and Tony bites his lip.

"That doesn't even make sense," he argues, his voice thick with fondness, and Clint doesn't stamp his foot because he's a responsible young adult, who does not resort to such immature actions.

Well. Maybe a little.

 

 

 

 

"No."

Steve's puppy dog pout is out in full force. He's widening his eyes on purpose, big and blue and  _beguiling._ He's even doing that thing were he tilts his head to one side, which he definitely learnt from Natasha.

"Please, Clint," Steve pleads, "I supported you when you went to Fury to petition for an archery club."

"We never got the archery club."

"I also held your hand when you got too scared to petition for an archery club," Steve reminds him, "Come  _on,_ Clint."

Clint may give in, but it's only because Steve  _bats his eyelashes,_ the little slag. 

Which is how Clint finds himself spending his precious, precious free period watching Steve try out for the football team. He's huddled up on one of the bleachers, firmly believing that the smaller he makes himself, the easier it'll be to sneak out when Steve's doing manly sporty things.

This plan is shot to shit when Darcy arrives, Tony sloping behind her. Darcy has the number 17 painted on her cheeks. "We didn't know what number Steve was," she says happily, sitting down next to Clint and swinging her legs up onto the seat in front, "So we just chose a random one."

"What are you doing here?" Clint demands, "Darcy, Fury's going to tell you to take that off the moment he sees you."

"I'll say it's against my human rights," Darcy says blithely, settling happily into her seat, "Is Steve wearing tights yet?"

"Tights?" Tony repeats, "Jesus."

Clint glares at him. "Why are you here?"

"Research purposes," Tony says immediately, cheeks colouring, "I'm evaluating variables."

Clint gives him the side eye. "What variable?"

"Whether the tightness of a uniform increases the speed of the passes," Tony says after a moment. He huffs, turning back to look at the pitch. "And you're ruining my experiment."

"Your little gay experiment," Clint mutters, smirking when Tony stiffens next to him.

In all honesty the next hour is hilarious. Tony spends the entire time pretending he's not turned on, which he blatantly is. He eyes never leave Steve's tiny figure on the pitch, lips parted slightly.

"Do you have a boner?" Clint asks bluntly, and Tony jumps like he's been shot.

"No, why would you ask that, no, fuck off, you  _pervert,_ " Tony hisses, which makes Darcy and Clint crack up.

"Clearly do," Clint sing-songs, which makes Tony scowl even more, hunching over in his seat.

Whatever Steve did over the summer, it's clearly working. He's better than an of the others on the pitch, with the exception of Thor, faster, more agile. He's more driven, more determined to prove himself, which goes a long way in giving him an edge.

Steve and Thor are also ridiculous to watch. To anyone else, the back slapping and fist bumps are carefully constructed shows of masculinity. They're not; they genuinely are just two idiots to like each other that much, and therefore want to touch at random opportunities.

Practise finishes, and Coach Grim calls all the players together. Clint sees the moment Steve gets a place, he does this stupid dance thing with his feet, and Thor crashes into him and suffocates him with hugs.

"Did he get in?" Tony asks, and Clint does a double take at the anxiety in his voice. Tony brown eyes are wide, eyelashes fluttering in nervousness. "Is that a good hug or a bad hug? Did he get on the team?"

"Good," Darcy says, standing up and stretching her legs. "I'm going to find Tash, we're going to terrorise the basketball team. See you later."

She trots off, but Clint and Tony head down the steps, jogging onto the field. Clint can tell the moment he notices them, changing direction, happiness blazing from his face.

"Why is he running?" Tony mutters, "Why is he - stop, no, bad Steve, stop - ugh,  _get off."_

Steve ploughs into Tony like an enthusiastic puppy, rubbing his sweaty cheek all over Tony's shirt. Tony squeals, bitching the whole time, shoving Steve away, but Clint can see the way his hands linger on Steve's arm. The apples of Steve's cheeks are pink with happiness, and Tony's wearing a similar expression, just hidden better under a ducked gaze and curled lip.

"Jesus, you're like a puppy," Tony snorts, eventually shoving Steve away, "Don't look at me like that, Odin, you're just as bad. Where's your freaky brother, he wasn't in the stands."

Thor looks a bit dejected by that. All that Steve knows about Thor's home life is his brother's a nutcase, and they're pretty much fucked. He feels a little bad for thinking that, though, so he pats Thor's arm in a consoling way. Thor smacks him hard enough he's going to bruise, so that's the last Clint's doing of family bonding.

"We should have a party," Tony says, familiar glint in his eyes, "Yeah, we definitely should have a party to celebrate you being manly bros and all."

"A party," Steve says dubiously, giving Tony a look, "I don't want a party - "

"I do," Thor says immediately, smacking Tony on the arm. Tony whimpers. Clint sniggers. "Yes, a party. I can invite Loki!"

Tony's face falls, rubbing his arm ruefully. "Yeah, I take it back. No party, I'm with Steve-o."

Steve nudges Tony, smirking with Tony pretends it really hurt his arm. "Don't be mean, Loki can come if he wants."

Tony rounds on him, raising his eyebrows. "You didn't even want a party."

Steve balks. "I don't - "

"If I don't have a party Loki can't come," Tony says stubbornly.

Steve glares at him. Clint glares at him on principle, then gets bored. "Okay, we're having a party. So you two can shower now, you both stink."

Steve turns that blinding grin on him, and Clint is definitely immune to the puppy eyes after so many years, but he still gets a bromancey tingle. Steve knows he's doing it as well, because he's trying not to laugh. Clint smacks him in the shoulder, winces, and then propels Steve towards the showers.

 

 

 

 

 

"I'm slightly terrified."

Maria hums next to him, raising one eyebrow. "Slightly? I'm mentally adding up the property damage." 

The party is in full swing, and Thor is also swinging; swinging a baseball bat he's found in an effort to prove he's a better baseball player than Tony. Steve has exiled them to the garden, the rest of them can see them through the open French doors, but Clint's not convinced Thor's not going to try and bring the game inside. Bruce is pitching, which is a terrible idea, because he looks as though he's going to be sick any second.

"Why did we let them play baseball?" Clint sighs, taking a sip of his drink. Maria's sofa is surprisingly comfy. "It's like watching a peacock fight."

"I'd rather they play it outside then in here," Maria says, "But at least they agreed to go outside. I have no idea where Thor even found that bat."

Steve is umpiring, which is secretly his way of making sure they don't all kill each other. Tash is watching with amused eyes; Clint has no doubt she'll step up to the bat soon and obliterate the others. Thor and Tony are bickering over about who's hit went further, whilst Bruce watches nervously. 

"I'm going to bring them in," Maria sighs, putting her bottle down sadly and dusting off her jeans. It's Maria's house, actually. Clint doesn't really know her, but she's friends with Steve and Tash and she's got a dry sense of humour he can appreciate. "Thor, leave the bat outside - oi, I'm serious, that's not coming inside."

"Thank god," Tony mutters, throwing the bat down. He slopes inside, obnoxiously shoving Clint out the way. "Move over, Barton. Thor definitely hit the ball further than me, but don't tell him that. He'll never let me live it down."

"We don't have to tell him," Maria points out, "Everyone saw it. You're a crap batter, Stark."

Tony flips her off behind her back, Maria crossing the room to shut the French doors. Natasha is tugging Steve inside, whispering something in his ear that makes him laugh out loud. They both collapse on the floor, Natasha sprawling effortlessly like a covergirl, Steve awkwardly tucking all his legs up. "Let's play truth or dare."

"Yeah, and maybe then we can watch a PG," Clint snarks, rolling his eyes. "We're not  _five."_

"Shut up," Tony scowls, glaring at him. "You got a better idea?"

"I wish to play," Thor booms, because of course he fucking does. Thor throws himself down in a tangle of limbs, cheeks flushed from the booze he'd been chugging. He'd drunk even more when Clint had asked if Loki hadn't wanted to come. Clint had felt a bit bad about that, in all honesty, but Thor had cheered up enough. Enough that he'd started a pissing contest in Maria's garden, so. 

"We all have to sit in a circle," Natasha says immediately, giving Clint the evil eye. Clint hisses at her from his coveted spot on the sofa. He is not giving up these cushions. "Come on, Tony, Maria. Everyone on the floor."

Tony obligingly slides onto the floor, and Maria takes a spot next to Natasha. Clint gives Natasha the middle finger. "No way, Tash. I am perfectly comfortable on the couch, I'm not - OW, FUCK OFF, TASH."

Crashing to the floor from a sofa is so not fun.

"Okay, whose first?" Steve asks, smirking when Clint rubs his ankle angrily. "Clint, it didn't hurt that much. Natasha, don't pull people off the sofa - "

"Steve, don't be the parent," Tony mimics, smirking when Steve gives him a dirty look. "Come on, we don't need a rule book. Everyone knows how to play truth or dare, there is literally only two options."

"Shut up," Steve grumbles, and Maria throws her hands in the air. Clint didn't even know people did that, but that's the level of irritation Steve and Tony take people to.

"Okay, Thor," Maria says firmly, turning to him. Thor looks ecstatic. "Truth or dare?"

Thor chooses dare. Quick as anything, Natasha says, "Give Bruce a lap dance."

It's hilarious, but it's also the most disturbing thing Clint has ever witnessed, and he will need litres of bleach to remove it from his brain. Bruce spends the entire thing with his eyes shut, and Clint could really go without seeing Thor grind like. You know. Ever. 

"Right, my go," Bruce says grimly, absolutely crimson. "Natasha, truth or dare?"

Natasha tilts her head to one side. "Hm, dare."

Bruce dares her to drink a concoction of Tony and Thor's choosing. Clint gets the feeling Bruce was trying to let Natasha off easy, but Clint knows for a fact Tony would put detergent in there if he could. Natasha swallows it all in one shot, then grimaces. She isn't sick, but Clint wasn't expecting any less. 

"Okay, Tony's go," Natasha says, narrowing her eyes. Tony gulps, and Clint doesn't try to hold back his snicker. "Truth or dare? Got to pick one, Tones."

"Dare," Tony says defiantly. Clint groans next to him, face palming. Tony blinks wide eyes at him. "Why are you groaning? That was a groan, why what that a groan, what is she going to do?"

"You should have picked truth," Clint winces, "She knows everything anyway, you've just given her more ammunition by choosing dare."

Tony looks terrified. "Shit. Okay, I'm changing - "

 "I dare you to kiss Steve," Natasha says promptly, and it's like all the air has been sucked out of the room. 

Tony's eyes widen, his jaw falling open. He's staring at Natasha with blown pupils, all the colour draining from his face. Steve is wearing a similar expression, utterly pale, blue eyes filled with shock. The moment drags on, and Clint's not sure what's worse; the fact they have to kiss, or the fact they might not. If they don't it's going to look really weird, if they do - well. 

"Okay," Tony says finally, and he's breathing heavily, like he's just run a race.

"Okay?" Steve repeats, and it'd almost be funny the way his voice rises about three octaves, but then Tony is kissing him.

Actually kissing him.

 _Tony_ is kissing _Steve._

Tony clambers into Steve's lap, throwing his arms around him and crushing their mouths together. Steve's hands fall to the curve of Tony's waist like it's instinctive, cupping the dip of his hip tightly. Tony tightens his legs around Steve's waist, feet locking behind him. Tony's hands are tangled in Steve's hair, and Steve's are fisted in Tony's shirt. Steve can see where his knuckles are white from his grip. 

Their mouths fit together clumsily, like they're not used to each other's taste. It's sloppy at first, mouths bumping, but then Steve changes the angle, Tony tilts his head, and they're  _really_ kissing. Clint can see how Tony licks into Steve's mouth, Steve kissing back furiously, the hint of tongue, the clash of teeth, slick and passionate. It's heady and fervid, like they've waiting to do this forever, like they're not going to stop now they have the chance.

Bruce coughs, and they break apart like startled animals. Tony's hands are still nestled in Steve's hair. Steve's mouth is raw and bruised, and he licks his lips. Tony's eyes drop to watch the movement, pupils black, his own mouth slick and red.

"Okay," Clint says slowly, and Tony almost knees Steve in his haste to get off his lap. Steve sits back, eyes dazed. Tony scrambles back to his position, staring down at the floor. 

"Truth or dare?" Maria says quietly, and everyone pretends like the last three minutes didn't happen.

It's horribly, horribly awkward. Steve and Tony are clearly not looking at each other, but Clint can see the way Tony is flexing his fingers. At one point Steve touches his lips, and Tony starts, flinches like he was going to do something. He doesn't, and Steve doesn't, and Clint has never felt so uneasy in his life.

Needless to say, Steve and Tony don't get dared for the rest of the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the video I watched this while writing the chapter :) [fuck yeah](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lt81kxpGwKQ) it's not really relevant but whatever
> 
>  
> 
> Oh look, my [tumblr with cool marvel stuff *sweats nervously*](http://ariadneodair.tumblr.com/search/marvel)


	6. the only person who mattered all along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end guys! I am on a productive streak and anything, I've just done the ironing and everything. Also, please tell me I'm not the only who ships Steve and Natasha, I was a second away from the old jealously ploy.
> 
> Thank you everyone's who's commented or left kudos! It's means so much!

Steve is miserable the Monday after the party. Miserable and cranky and all his friends are being weird. 

He can still taste Tony on his lips when he wakes up, sun streaking the curtains, despite the fact he's normally well awake before that for his morning run. His mom knocks on the door softly. She hadn't said anything when he'd stumbled back Saturday night, silent and solemn, red lipped and pale.

It had been horrible, horrible, horrible during those excruciating hours after Tony has kissed him. Steve had felt like all his muscles had been trembling, completely on edge, hands quivering. Tony hadn't looked at him once, which had felt like a punch in the stomach, but in all fairness they're had been no returning glances from Steve's end.

He doesn't know what  _to do,_ is the thing. He and Tony are close, he knows that. Closer than any of the others, apart from possibly Clint but that's a completely different type of intimacy. And yeah, he has thought about Tony before. When he's all sleepy eyed, when he's wearing that red scarf Steve brought him in the winter, the very first time and Tony almost hit him in an illegal car.

Tony looks at him too. Steve knows it. He's not completely oblivious, despite what his friends think. It happens in class sometimes, Tony giving him a long once over, eyes dark, making Steve's stomach flip. Tony always looks away when their eyes meet, snaps that connection before it can tangle them together. 

It's just, none of them have the best experience of relationships. Tony's home life is a shit show, which is blunt but true, and Steve has enough memories of hugging a tearful Tony to prove it. Steve loves him mom, he does, but the ghost of his father still lingers in their tiny house. 

Natasha doesn't let anyone in. Bruce lets them in then kicks them out. Clint covers his insecurities like wallpaper, smooths out the cracks with jokes and laughs. Thor is the only normal one, and Steve once saw Loki try and smother him in his sleep. Woo hoo for role models.

And Steve likes to think he's reasonably well-adjusted, but he's still terrified, completely dizzy in love with Tony, and too scared to say anything in case it messes their friendship up. Playing that card, taking that chance - it's not worth it if he loses Tony. 

He's jolted out of his thoughts by Clint smacking on his door obnoxiously. Steve opens it before Clint starts kicking it, and Clint gives him a toothy grin. "All right, my scarlet man?"

"That's not funny," Steve says dully, "And you don't even know what that means."

"Natasha called me it before," Clint shrugs, "I don't question it. Are you okay?"

"How many sex jokes are people going to make today?" Steve sighs, absent mindedly kicking a stone along the path. "You know, on a scale of one to ten?"

"How oblivious are you going to be?" Clint mimics. "On a scale of one to ten. One being Romeo and Juliet, ten being that creepy girl from the vampire film."

Steve wrinkles his nose. "Oblivious to what? Natasha and you making gestures behind my back. The running bet you and Thor no doubt have going by now."

"I don't have a bet on you," Clint sniffs. "Well, not a lot on it, anyway. No, I mean how oblivious are you that Tony's in love with you?"

Steve physically chokes, all the air punched out of his lungs. His heart is pounding in his chest, staring at Clint with big eyes. Clint blinks at him. "Are you having an asthma attack? Seriously, you told me you don't have them any more - "

"Why," Steve says in a strangled tone, "Why would you say Tony's in love with me?" Sure, maybe Tony likes him on aesthetic level (saying that makes Steve cringe), but he doesn't - he can't, you know. Actually love Steve. He likes as a friend. A friend he would kiss. That doesn't mean anything.

"Oh my god," Clint says in an awed voice, "You're actually counter-arguing that right now, aren't you? I can literally see the cogs of denial spinning in your tiny brain."

"Shut up," Steve says. His stomach feels as though there's an army of butterflies in there, battering against his rib cage. "He doesn't like me like that. The kiss was a dare, okay?"

That's the other thing playing on his mind, the idea Tony doesn't really like him, that those lazy looks were actually a muscle spasm or something. That Tony kissing him was to save face, nothing to do with his relationship with Steve. 

"You're actually serious," Clint says, squinting at Steve. "Steve, everyone knows it. Literally everyone. We all knew from the car incident - that is a really weird kink, by the way, but whatever, be into potential death by machine. Darcy knows, and Darcy turns up to school in pyjamas.  _Thor_ knows, Steve.  _Thor._ Do I even need to explain the implications of that?"

"You're crazy," Steve says. His head hurts. He wishes he'd stayed at home. "It was a dare, nothing else, okay? And even if he did like me, we'd mess it up. I'd mess it up. It'd just go wrong, okay?"

Clint opens his mouth, closes it, opens it, and shakes his head. He gives Steve this look, as if he can see right through him, then looks away. "What did you get for the Maths homework?"

Steve sighs; at least Clint's got the hint. Hopefully he'll leave it be.

 

 

 

"I'm calling a intervention," Clint hisses into his phone, clamped to his ear. 

"Why are you whispering?" Natasha asks bluntly.

"In case people hear," Clint hisses, looking furtively around. The hallway's deserted apart from a freshman getting something out of her locker. Clint gives her the big old evil eye for good measure. "We need to mobilise the troops."

Natasha sighs down the line. "Fine, I'll tell everyone to try and get Steve and Tony together."

"Don't say the plan while we're on a public line!"

"I'm hanging up."

"Okay, so operation Stony is ago."

"What the fuck does that mean?"

"It's their couple name."

"Yeah, I'm hanging up now."

 

 

 

Bruce decides to go for the subtle approach. Tony is like a deer sometimes, flittish and brittle. A deer who's covered in engine oil, with serious emotional issues, which is something Bruce is acutely aware of. Tony's doodling on his desk, complicated algorithms that drive their teacher mad. Tony refuses to appear to show an effort in class, and then he jots down quantum physics in black marker.

"Tony," Bruce says quietly. Tony doesn't lift his head. "Tony, have you talked to Steve?"

Tony looks up at him, blinking large eyes. "Who's Steve?"

Bruce sighs, nudging Tony with the point of the elbow. "Tony, don't be an idiot. I'll be explicit if you want. On Saturday night, at Maria Hill's party, a young boy called Tony and young boy called Steve - "

"I don't like it when you sass me out," Tony whines, pouting at him. "I don't like it when you do that, stop it. Just sit there and be pretty."

"You like Steve," Bruce says flatly, ignoring Tony's alarmed squeak. "He likes you. You were going to kiss at some point. Don't screw up a good thing for no reason."

"It doesn't matter," Tony grumbles, refusing to look at Bruce. "It wouldn't work. I'm - I've mucked up already. I'll hurt him. I don't know how to do relationships, look at my fucking parents."

"Tony," Bruce says softly, heart clenching, "Tony, you won't screw it up - "

"How do you  _know?"_ Tony hisses. His eyes are dark, his knuckles stark white where he's gripping the edge of his desk. He looks scared, small, and Bruce doesn't like it. He understands where Tony is coming from, but if there's one thing Tony won't mess up, it's Steve. They're wrapped too deep in each other, have been since day one, coiled tight like wires.

"You won't," Bruce repeats. "Steve wouldn't let you. Don't be a - you know he cares. We all do. It's the one sure thing in this entire group."

Tony bites his lip, looks like he's going to protest but Bruce cuts him off. "Who was the first person Steve called when his mum got sick?"

"Me," Tony says automatically, then swears under his breath. "Shit, Bruce - "

"Who was the person you talked to when Howard hit you?"

"Steve, but - "

"I didn't know about it until you came to school with a black eye," Bruce says flatly. Old anger flares up at the memory, making Bruce's hands clench. Howard have been absolutely out of it, and it was only once, but it was once too much. "Who called the services, who got Howard terrified to even touch you? Who gives you a second home when he gets drunk? Who's mom has a spare room made up, solely for you, despite the fact you know they need the space?"

Tony doesn't reply. He doesn't say anything, old ghosts running through his eyes, the flicker of emotions Bruce can't place. He takes a deep shuddering breath, and Bruce squeezes his hand under the table. He doesn't say anything else; he doesn't have to.

 

 

 

"You love him."

Steve jumps about a mile, which makes Natasha crack up. Steve scowls at her, shoving his books into his locker. "Don't scare me like that."

"I can be a lot scarier," Natasha smirks, leaning against Steve's locker. "And cut the bullshit, I'm not having a drawn out weep about this. You want to bump uglies with Tony, so get with the bumping."

"That's a disgusting analogy," Steve snipes, but his cheeks are starting to flame pink. He shuffles awkwardly, and Natasha feels a rush of affection for him. Steve's one of her best friends, second maybe to Clint, and she hates to see him pining. There's a reason why she dared them to kiss at that party. 

"It's even more disgusting to see you and Tony give each other fuck me eyes," Natasha sighs, running a hand through her hair. "Steve, here's a very important piece of information. Boys are stupid. Unfortunately, you are extremely gay, and therefore have to deal with that. Even worse, you're in love with Tony, which is an even stupider choice to have made, but there you go. Do not drag this out."

"He doesn't want to be with me," Steve says flatly, eyes dull. "And I won't push him."

"Maybe he needs a bit of a shove," Natasha says quietly, "Tony's got a lot of issues, but you've never been one. You remember when he stood up for you when you came out? He'd put anything on the line for you. You making a move, it's not going to be  _problem._ It'll be a  _solution."_

Steve chews at his bottom lip, blue eyes clouded. "Yeah, but you know what he's like. He flits with everyone. You've heard the way he talks. He's always saying he doesn't believe in relationships, he's  _always_ says that."

"Yeah, while staring at  _you,"_ Natasha says, crossing her arms. "He wants you to cut him off, you idiot. Like, I'm not saying of marriage proportions, but just tell him to shut  _up."_

"I should tell Tony to shut up," Steve repeats, the corner of his lip quirking up. "Doesn't sound so different from usual."

"You heard it here first," Natasha grins, "Come on, you practically live in each other's back pockets, anyway. Don't be a pussy, Rogers."

Steve shoves her, so Natasha shoves him back, until they're having a tug of war in the hall. Fury walks past at one point, and he just glares at them until they stop. Natasha resists giving Steve a final smack, but it's a close thing. 

 

 

 

When they do get together, it's not with a huge celebration. Clint supposes that's how it started though, slipping under each other's skins without a word, so it feels appropriate. 

The group hadn't quite gotten to the locking in the cupboard stage, but whatever Bruce had said to Tony - and Nat to Steve - had the right effect. Tony had offered Steve a lift home after school, stumbling over his words (Tony Stark, stuttering, Clint wishes he'd recorded it), and Steve had gone all pink, nodding. It wasn't quite driving off into the sunset, but it's good enough.

When they come to lunch the next day, they're holding hands. Their palms are entwined, similar determined expressions on their faces. Thor and Clint whoop, Natasha and Maria high five, and Bruce just sits there and smiles. Clint tries to teach Steve a victory dance at one point, which is hilarious, and also gets them a detention from Fury for kicking over the lunch table.

"Okay, shut up," Steve sighs, but his grin is so big it takes up half his face. Tony's practically sitting on his lap, one of Steve's arms curled around his shoulders. 

"Don't give me that look, Barton," Tony scowls, but Clint can see the way his lips keep twitching. "You look creepy as fuck."

Clint kicks him under the table, only he misses and kicks Thor. Clint blanches. "I didn't mean to, I swear to fucking god, Thor, if you kick me back."

"Don't kick people," Steve says calmly, taking out his lunch box. He splits his brownie in half, hands one half to Tony, then continues eating. Tony slips his hand into Steve's, eating one handed. Clint can see the way Tony's thumb strokes over Steve's knuckles. Steve smiles at him, placing a kiss to Tony's temple, Tony's eyes fluttering. They both look happy, content. It's adorable.

"So," Clint says loudly, taking a huge bit of his sandwich. "Just one more question. Who tops?"

The expression on Steve's face is worth the ensuing food fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the [reblog link of this fic tumblr!](http://ariadneodair.tumblr.com/post/94839829302/these-nights-never-seem-to-go-to-plan#notes)
> 
> You don't have to follow me or anything, but if you reblog the post it'd mean a lot :) but you don't have to do, be your own person and all that jazz :) thank you everyone!
> 
> *I'mnotsayingdon'tputdirtonmygravejustyetisgoingtobeupdatedsoonbutyesthatiskindofwhatI'msaying*

**Author's Note:**

> Liked it? Kudos and comments appreciated :)
> 
> Any suggestions for povs I would be happy to take :) I'm definitely doing Tasha and Bruce, but if there's anyone you'd like me to write as, go for it :)


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